Observations of an Accidental Farmer—and a Mindful Reader

"Looking at opera from the standpoint of its texts, as only a gifted poet and librettist can do, Dana Gioia examines why a surprisingly small number of operas have attained a secure place in the repertory. His insight into the workings of this uniquely lyrical fusion of the arts makes Weep, Shudder, Die not only a definitive assessment of the importance of poetry to the operatic undertaking, but a gift to opera lovers everywhere. Read…Reflect…Delight!"
—Ted Libbey, author of The NPR Listener’s Encyclopedia of Classical Music

“Weep, Shudder, Die should be read by anyone who enjoys opera, or who cares about its place in today's world. Dana Gioia explores, with imagination and insight, the relationship between the libretto and the music. I learned a great deal in reading it, and at the same time enjoyed the experience immensely.”
—Henry Fogel, Former President, Chicago Symphony Orchestra and League of American Orchestras

A unique book about opera—personal, impassioned, and provocative. 

Weep, Shudder, Die explores opera from the perspective by which the art was originally created, as the most intense form of poetic drama. The great operas have an essential connection to poetry, song, and the primal power of the human voice. The aim of opera is irrational enchantment, the unleashing of emotions and visionary imagination.

Gioia rejects the conventional view of opera which assumes that great operas can be built on execrable texts. He insists that in opera, words matter. Operas begin as words; strong words inspire composers, weak words burden them. Ultimately, singers embody the words to give the music a human form for the audience.

Weep, Shudder, Die is a poet’s book about opera. To some, that statement will suggest writing that is airy, impressionistic, and unreliable, but a poet also brings a practical sense of how words animate opera, lend life to imaginary characters, and give human shape to music. Written from a lifelong devotion to the art, Gioia’s book is for anyone who has wept in the dark of an opera house.

John Verney is obviously writing far more for his own pleasure than for children and this is the way the best children’s books get written.”—Madeline L’Engle, New York Times

Thirteen-year-old February Callendar is upset to learn that a highway will soon be built through her family’s land. When she sees her father swipe a letter off a neighbor’s desk, she begins to suspect that shady dealings have taken place. Can she unravel the mystery, discover who keeps sabotaging the bulldozers, and, most importantly, save the family farm?

"Among the finest poets of his generation.”
—Richard Wilbur, two-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry

"Like Frost before him, Brock has the power to make earthbound words take flight.”
—Boris Dralyuk, author of My Hollywood and Other Poems

The title of Geoffrey Brock's third poetry collection, After, works in two ways. Many of the poems were written after, and in response to, the death of Brock's father, who was also a poet. And many are in some way “after”—as in, in the manner of—other poems or works of art. Such texts, often called “versions” or “imitations,” have long been seen as, in Samuel Johnson’s words, “a kind of middle composition between translation and original design.”

Brock has been writing and translating poems for forty years, and for most of his career those two activities proceeded along parallel but distinct tracks. In recent years, however, he has been increasingly drawn to that middle space where the tracks converge. For Brock, it's a conversational space, in which he listens to the call of earlier works and offers responses from his own life: by turns bleak and beautiful, poignant and funny, sorrowful and accepting. Poets owe debts to other poets as surely as each of us does to those who raised us, and After is a partial account of such personal and poetic inheritances. 

“Move over, Onegin—we’ve a new Eugene for the ages. In Michael Weingrad’s wildly charming and profound telling, young Eugene Nadelman’s adolescence in 1980s Philadelphia unfolds in iambic tetrameter, with each crush and clash and heartache feeling as epic as they do for the young and the hopeful. If you’ve ever spun the bottle or leered furtively at someone across the dancefloor, you’ll find yourself transformed by Weingrad’s wit, wonder, and heart, and, like young Eugene himself, grow wiser.”
—Liel Leibovitz, editor at large, Tablet Magazine

“[A] wistful and emotionally resonant novel that finds true poetry in teenage life."
—Foreword Reviews

"Weingrad is a true talent, and this book is a joy.”
—Jewish Journal

Full of humor, pathos, and pop cultural references, Eugene Nadelman is a tale of young love and American manners in the era of Ronald Reagan and MTV—written in the witty sonnet form of Alexander Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin.

It’s 1982, and teenaged Eugene attends his cousin’s bar mitzvah in suburban Philadelphia. There he meets a kindred spirit in the savvy, sensitive Abigail. But when Eugene’s best friend also becomes smitten with Abby, a tragic rivalry ensues and, just as in the Pushkin poem, one character kills another in a duel. (Well, in a Dungeons & Dragons game, in this case.) 

Eugene and Abby’s romance deepens against a backdrop of '80s music, fashion, and VHS rentals—with serious world events like AIDS and the Cold War hovering overhead. But when Eugene leaves for sleepaway camp and Abby for Europe, temptations abound, and one question becomes paramount: can their love survive a summer separation?

“A masterful work, catapulting the reader through the intricate history of Outermark with a sense of immersion that is rare in contemporary fiction. Full of quiet grace, breathtaking moments of violence, splendor, and all manners of beauty, this novel is an indelible achievement—and not to be missed.”
—Nathan Harris, author of The Sweetness of Water

"Engrossing . . . [a] moving tale of ritual and survival."
—Wall Street Journal

Outermark is a haunting and bittersweet story about the power of the places that shape us from Jason Brown, winner of the Maine Book Award, “a pure and accomplished talent” (New York Times).

The tiny, fictional island of Outermark sits thirty miles off the coast in the waters between Maine and Nova Scotia. When Corson Wills, one of the last people to have lived on the island, is asked to recount its history, he begins by describing it as "a rock in the ocean where no one lives anymore.” Corson’s tale, and those of his ancestors who also lived there, ferry the reader between the 1980s, when lobster fishing is the only remaining industry, and the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, days of great sailing ships to the East Indies but also of conflicts between the earliest Native residents and newly arrived colonial settlers.

During Corson’s boyhood, life on the island becomes increasingly tenuous as the lobster stocks decline and debt and hard feelings abound. Some of the islanders have started to run drugs, and many others have abandoned their homes to move to the mainland. Tensions between neighbors reach a tipping point the night of a catastrophic house fire. Residents of Outermark suffer the loss of livelihood and community that many in small towns have experienced in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. As the stories in Outermark reveal, as impossible as life was on the island, life off of it never feels quite right for those who had no choice but to leave it behind.